


Take Your Time And Be Nice

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, M/M, Service Kink, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is determined to be seduced. Hannibal is determined to seduce Will, but not necessarily in the way that Will wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Time And Be Nice

They were far past the point in the evening where Will would normally be taking his coat from the hook by the door and saying his goodbyes, but the conversation was still going strong. Hannibal was pleased about this, and, determined to have Will stay for longer, was making a point not to check the time or otherwise inadvertently remind him of the late hour. Will had consumed a touch more wine than was usual, and had become proportionately more talkative. He had been telling Hannibal all sorts of things, about his parents and his childhood, about his years as a cop in New Orleans; he'd even dropped some heavy hints about some sexual experimentation in college. Occasionally, during a moment of particular candor, Will reached across the corner of the table (where he was sitting to Hannibal's right) and put his hand on Hannibal's. Entirely uncharacteristic of a sober Will, though each time, he continued speaking without pause and without eye contact, behaving as if the touching were not happening at all. Hannibal listened raptly to every word, taking his eyes from Will only when Will's hand went to the bottle of wine to refill his glass.

It was not Hannibal’s wish for Will to get drunk. In his opinion, that was an unchallenging and unsatisfying method of facilitating a sexual encounter. And a sexual encounter was something he’d been contemplating for some time. But he preferred a lengthy, open late-night conversation, like the one they were having right now, to foster the sort of intellectual intimacy that so often proved aphrodisiacal. Will's revealing conversation and his enthusiasm for the wine, both departures from the usual, told Hannibal that Will was also interested in having sex, but felt unable to do so unless he'd had more than the usual amount of alcohol. Hannibal did not necessarily understand why anyone would subject themselves to this type of self-loathing; Hannibal, of course, loved everything about himself, and also everything about Will, but he was aware of the depth of Will’s resistance to the idea of self-acceptance.

So Hannibal's intention was to let Will become slightly intoxicated, if he believed he needed that, but to control the flow of wine to ensure sure that by the time clothes were coming off, Will would not be completely smashed. When Will, continuing on a train of thought about his home life, said without irony, “Sometimes I wonder if my dogs even know that they're dogs,” Hannibal knew that the second bottle of wine, which was sitting on the kitchen counter, ought to stay on the kitchen counter.

Will went on, “Because I mean, I'm the leader of their pack, and I'm not a dog. So, do they think they're people? Or do they think that I'm a dog?”

Hannibal blinked, and by way of reply, asked, “Would you like to retire with me to the sitting room, to continue our conversation?”

Will gave a little pause and brief dubious look before answering. Hannibal had said exactly what he wanted to hear, at just the moment when he wanted to hear it, and he was very sensitive to and always suspicious of things like that. But Hannibal kept his expression mild and inscrutable, and so finally Will said, “That would be nice. If I'm not overstaying my welcome.”

“Not at all.” Hannibal stood, and collected the dessert dishes and utensils.

Will stood up a little too fast, and wobbled. As Hannibal came around the table, Will grasped at his free arm. Quickly righting himself, he tried to act like nothing had happened, but almost immediately after, he froze, and said awkwardly, “I think something just unkinked. Excuse me for a moment, I'm just going to, ah...” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom that was on the other side of the kitchen. Whether he failed to complete the sentence out of a sense of decorum, or because he'd simply forgotten the words, Hannibal was not entirely certain. Nonetheless, he nodded and replied, “By all means.”

As they passed into the kitchen together, Will said, “I should help you with the dishes for once. How about when I come back...?”

Hannibal shushed him. “You'll do no such thing. It is always my pleasure to serve you.”

Will favored the full sink with a forlorn glance, then proceeded to the bathroom. Meanwhile, Hannibal dropped the dishes off in the sink, and then poured a large glass of water for Will. He took it into the sitting room and set it on one of the end tables. For a moment, he gazed into the middle distance, thinking of some way to pass the time until Will became a bit more clear-headed without abandoning the mood entirely. It did not take him long to find inspiration, and he dashed upstairs.

When Hannibal returned to the sitting room, Will was in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the fireplace. He raised his eyebrows at the fact that somewhere along the way Hannibal had discarded his jacket and waistcoat, and had rolled his shirtsleeves up. It was just slightly odd, a casualness of dress that Will had only seen on Hannibal when he was working in the kitchen.

Hannibal moved past him and over to the sofa. “Why don't you sit here, instead,” he suggested, patting the cushion to his right. Will shrugged and did as he was asked, heaving himself from the chair and flopping down on the sofa next to Hannibal. He dutifully drank from the glass of water when it was pointed out to him, and seemed content. Hannibal moved like he was just readjusting his position, turning so that he could better face his conversation partner, but as he did so he managed to scoot himself an inch closer to Will.

“I believe you were telling me about your dogs,” Hannibal said, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. He cared very little about the dogs, but he encouraged Will to talk about them, because they were one of his favorite subjects, and Hannibal wanted him to feel at ease.

“Was I? Oh, yeah. I love them. They're all different, you know. They each have a distinct personality.” Will paused to take another drink of water, and Hannibal said nothing, and so he went on, “Like for example, Winston. He's the newest one, I just got him a couple months ago. When I found him he was filthy, and he had this rope around his neck, looked like it had been chewed through. But he was decently healthy, and I didn't have too hard a time getting him off the road. I'm thinking he had a good family, but they maybe had to move? And they put him on Craigslist or something? And they weren't careful, so he ended up with a bad family, but not for so long that he’d starved or gotten sick.”

Will was slouching, like he was tired and would rather lie than sit. Hannibal felt behind him, grabbed a throw pillow, and then reached across Will to lay it next to the pillow that was already there.

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable if you reclined,” Hannibal suggested.

Will seemed to think this was a good idea. He took one more gulp of water before setting the glass aside and turning himself to rest his back against the arm of the sofa. “After all this time,” he said, “my psychiatrist is finally having me lie down on his couch.”

Despite his change of position, however, Will kept his feet on the floor. This was not what Hannibal intended, so he provided a little assistance, scooping one arm under Will's calves and placing Will's feet in his lap.

“Not sure that's standard procedure,” Will said, but he did not resist. He was looking at the situation, clearly contemplating the position they were in, but then he just shrugged, and his expression softened. Hannibal guessed that Will, like himself, found the arrangement charmingly domestic and intimate. A rare treat, and really not so incongruous when one considered the care with which Hannibal had been handling Will since they'd met, even on the physical level, with his wholesome food and comfortable home.

“So anyway,” Will continued, “Winston I think just had a bad spell, but he was taken care of most of his life. But see, Buster, I don't think he ever had a good owner before me. When I found him he was just skin and bones, and all mangy. I had a hell of a time getting him home. He's tiny, but he's a scrapper. Still growls at everyone and everything. It's sad, because I've had him for years, and I give him food and shelter every day, and lots of space to run and friends to play with, but inside he is always going to be that poor little starved thing I found in a dumpster, and that makes me sad.”

Hannibal was paying attention, only because it was Will talking. People's sentimental obsessions with their pets was a tedious subject. But everything Will said was, of course, fascinating, and he took in every word, though he might have appeared distracted when he began untying the laces of Will's boots. When Will finally noticed, he lifted his head from the throw pillows and made an inquisitive noise.

“Go on,” Hannibal said. “What about the others?”

“Why are you untying my shoes?”

“So that I can remove them.”

“No one likes a smart-ass,” Will sneered.

“You said earlier that you'd been on your feet all day. I thought I might help if you had them massaged.”

“Nice use of the passive voice.” Will let his head fall back onto the pillows, maintaining a sardonic tone to make it clear that he was only letting this happen because Hannibal was a hopeless case. “'If I had them massaged.' Sounds less weird than telling me that _you_ are going to massage them.”

“Well spotted,” Hannibal said, as he slipped Will's left boot from his foot. He always enjoyed a little protest from Will. That was why he had taken this action with relative abruptness; if every step of the way was so subtle as to be seamless, when would he ever get to savor Will's resistance?

Resistance, that is, but not refusal. Will regarded Hannibal lazily, as he pulled the boot from the other foot and set it on the floor. Clearly it felt nice to Will to have them off; he wiggled his toes with relief. However, he seemed to be making a point not to display any enthusiasm in his expression or his voice, instead uttering a painstakingly unconcerned grunt.

Having received this message, Hannibal proceeded to hook his fingers in the cuff of each of Will's socks, and peel them off one at a time. He took the time to fold them up before placing them in one of Will's boots. Only then did he pick up the item that he had brought with him from upstairs: a rolled up towel. When he unfurled it, a jar fell free from it and into his hand. It had no label, but when he opened it, Will could smell fresh coconut. Hannibal set the jar down for a moment, let the pleasant odor permeate the air, while he lifted Will's feet so that he could place the towel beneath them.

He began by dipping his fingers in the jar and coating his hands thoroughly with the oil. He then used both hands to spread the oil over Will's foot (he did the right one first), from the long, delicate toes to the shapely ankle with all its hills and valleys. Following this, with one hand, he cupped and supported the heel, and with the other he rotated the foot at the ankle joint. Then he used both hands, one on each side, to squeeze from the toes up. He walked his thumbs back and forth over the slender sole, pushing deep, until Will finally conceded a groan.

It did not escape Hannibal’s notice, as he lavished this delicate and precise attention upon them, that Will's feet were lovely. Pale, having rarely seen the sun, with a few smooth but prominent veins and the occasional dusting of fine, dark hair. Masculine, but elegant. They were free of callouses, and the nails were neatly trimmed; he had likely gotten in the habit of good foot care during his time as a beat cop. Hannibal voiced this notion out loud, and got a mild affirmative noise in return. He could feel the tension leaving Will's body, but there remained an uncertainty about what was being done to him. Hannibal hoped his dry remark would make Will feel a little more like he was in the presence of a physician making professional observations in the midst of a procedure…and less like another man was giving him a massage to be “friendly.”

Hannibal continued, moving his thumbs in semi-circles beneath the ball of the foot, kneading horizontally, back and forth. Will was making noises now that put Hannibal in mind of how the feet and the genitals occupied adjacent areas of the somatosensory cortex, facilitating neural cross-talk between the two. When the novelty had run its course and those whimpers of pleasure died down, Hannibal turned himself marginally, so that he could more comfortably interlace his fingers over the top of Will's foot. He applied gentle pressure and slid his hands up and down, still stroking with his thumbs. When they began to tire, he gave them a rest and instead placed his fingers between each of Will's metatarsals, sliding just the tips up and down between them.

He made sure to pay careful attention to each of Will's toes. Beginning with the smallest of them, he placed his first two fingers on top and his thumb underneath, and squeezed each one as he tugged gently on them. Two of them gave a soft, satisfying pop when he did so. After finishing with the big toe, he placed his fingers into the four gaps between the toes, and massaged these interspaces.

He ended the procedure by running has hands from toe to ankle several times more, then released Will's right foot so that he might provide the same treatment to the left. By then, Will was feeling such pleasure and relaxation, he could respond to Hannibal's nonchalant remarks about the excellent structure of both his transverse and longitudinal arches only with deep sighs and quiet gasps.

Having completed the task, Hannibal gave each foot a tender final squeeze before releasing them. “There now,” he said matter-of-factly, “how does that feel?” When Will slurred out an affirmative, Hannibal said, “Still feeling tipsy?”

“Li'l bit,” Will drawled, and then giggled mischievously. He rotated one foot so that he might press it against Hannibal's groin, but then seemed surprised when his toes found the line of his already-hard cock. “Oh,” he said, “you _did_ like doing that, didn't you?”

“I told you it was my pleasure to serve you.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Will said, a slight growling edge to his voice now. “You're one of them foot preverts.” He laughed at his own mispronunciation, like that of the clueless Colonel in _Dr. Strangelove_ , and Hannibal was uncertain whether Will had indeed meant it as a joke, or whether it indicated that he was still too intoxicated to be seduced.

Will continued stroking Hannibal's cock through his trousers using the length of his sole, and Hannibal, with his own hand, gently pressed it tighter against himself, allowing a few upward tilts of his pelvis, before he asked, “Would you like to see it?”

“Heh, sure,” Will said, and then grinned like he’d triumphed somehow. “I want to see the cock that gets hard just 'cause you rubbed my feet.”

Hannibal lifted Will's feet from his lap so that he could grab the towel from underneath and set it aside. Then, taking one of Will's ankles in each hand, he spread Will's legs wide enough so that he could kneel between them as he turned to face Will directly. Will was laughing all the while, but he stopped abruptly when Hannibal unzipped his trousers and allowed his thick, hard cock to fall free.

“God damn,” Will whispered.

“Now: do you see one or two?” Hannibal said.

“One,” Will answered, slightly panicked. “Why? Do you have two?”

“Just seeing how intoxicated you are.”

“I've sobered up considerably in the last several seconds,” Will said. His hand crept down to his own cock, so that he could rub it through his jeans. He seemed unable to take his eyes off Hannibal's erection, and despite the incongruous way it poked through his trousers and shirt-tails, there was no more laughter. “Okay,” Will said, “you can fuck me with that, but you have to be nice about it, 'cause I haven't done it in a while.”

Hannibal smiled, having finally heard what he wanted to hear, and within acceptable circumstances. “I promise,” he said, “I will be very nice.”

In order to get his trousers off, he had to draw away from Will for a moment, just long enough to get his shoes unlaced and off, as well as his socks. He caught an impatient Will working his own zipper down and hooking his thumbs into his jeans to push them off. “ _Don't_ ,” Hannibal said, and Will froze instantly. “I will do that.”

Hannibal left his trousers, socks, and underwear in an untidy pile on the floor, far more concerned about the status of Will's clothing. He picked up where Will had left off, gripping the waistband of Will's jeans and underwear and yanking them down without even waiting for Will to lift his ass. Will's cock sprang up as it was freed, and the first whiff of musk rose from his skin and hit Hannibal's nose. Hannibal breathed in slowly and deeply, savoring the pungent and faintly stale odor. This was what Will smelled like.

Once his jeans were off and on the floor, Will did not need to be prompted to spread his legs. He had one foot on the floor and the other one on the back of the sofa, so wanton that it made Hannibal smirk. He leaned forward, brushing his cheek against Will's erection, breathing in his scent before bestowing a few kisses to Will's glans and frenulum. He flirted with the slit, his tongue darting out to taste the pre-ejaculate at the tip. Just from this little bit of teasing, Will's breath was coming in sharp gasps, punctuated by the occasional curse. He grabbed his cock at the base and tried to get it into Hannibal's mouth, but Hannibal put a stop to that.

“Is that how you want to come tonight?” he asked.

Will let go of his cock, and turned his face away, hot with embarrassment and desire. “No,” he admitted.

Hannibal gazed at him fondly and said, “I know.” He sat up straight, and found himself unable to take his eyes from Will's vulnerable and excited body. So he reached blindly, and managed to come up with the jar of coconut oil, into which he dipped his fingers, gathering a far more copious quantity than he did for the foot massage.

Will looked down at Hannibal's fingers as they moved down, out of his sight, and said, “Yeah, so, take your time with those.”

Hannibal was sure that he was in even less of a hurry than Will was. He made no attempt, at first, to even push his fingers inside. Instead, he played with Will's perineum and only lightly circled his hole, interested in seeing what he could do to Will without even penetrating him. And it turned out to be quite a bit; Will squirmed and whined, which Hannibal found very gratifying. When he pressed just a fingertip inside, Will suddenly stopped his aimless writhing and pushed down, and Hannibal's finger swiftly sank to the second knuckle. Will's whimper became a determined grunt; he continued pumping his pelvis, determined to derive more satisfaction from that single finger.

But Hannibal was merciful; he was there to tease, not torture. He placed one hand on Will to keep him still, then slid a second finger in alongside the first. Will made it clear immediately that he liked that better, squeezing his muscles and moving around on Hannibal's fingers so he could really feel it. His wriggling put his prostate in contact with Hannibal's fingers before Hannibal even had a chance to find it himself. But once the reason for Will's sudden torrent of guttural groans became apparent, Hannibal took the lead, rubbing deep inside until it took all of Will’s concentration to grind out the words “Okay, I'm ready.”

“Are you sure?” Hannibal said drily. “You did tell me to take my time and be nice.”

“Be nice, yeah, but just fuck me, _please_.”

Hannibal slid his fingers out with care. “I always appreciate it when you ask politely.”

He went for the jar again, but Will shouted, “Wait!” Hannibal did as he was asked, until Will continued: “Take off your shirt first. I want to see all of you.”

This request, Hannibal also happily complied with. He unrolled the cuffs of his shirt and opened the buttons down the front, then shucked it off to reveal his smooth biceps and furry chest. Will hummed with satisfaction at the sight. He reached out with both hands, though Hannibal was just out of arm’s reach. “You're just like I imagined you would be.”

Hannibal laughed softly and leaned down, so that Will could touch him anywhere he might like to. “Dear Will, were you thinking about me _that_ way before tonight? And here I thought I had seduced you.”

Will huffed and looked away. Hannibal did not demand an answer, just let Will have his fill of gropes and caresses, before he sat up straight again. He took up the jar once more and slicked his cock with the contents, slowly, to give Will a little show. After that, it was not a tough sell, convincing Will's body to accept him, and things moved at a comfortable, though not quite leisurely, pace. Will put his hand on his cock, then looked to Hannibal as if asking for permission. Hannibal found this flattering – Will wished for him to continue to guide his pleasure. As it happened, at the moment Hannibal liked his hands where they were, holding Will’s body, so he invited Will to help himself to whatever additional stimulation he needed. He kept an eye on how Will touched himself; the information would doubtless be useful later.

Thus emboldened by Hannibal’s encouragement, Will then lifted his right foot from where it had been resting against Hannibal's thigh and drew his knee back so that he could place it, toes first, then heel, against the smooth skin just under Hannibal's ribcage. Hannibal maintained his pace as the wandering foot crept up his chest, then to his shoulder. There were occasional pauses along the way, whenever Hannibal delivered a particularly good stroke and the pleasure shot down Will's thighs, made his legs go stiff and his toes flex against Hannibal's skin. But at last, Will's foot brushed against Hannibal's collarbone, and then was finally planted against his face.

Was Will trying to test his boundaries? If so, he was sorely misguided, for Hannibal had few to speak of. He took one hand from where it had been bracing Will's hip and pressed the proffered foot even closer against his face, so that his cheekbone fit into the high arch of it. Then he turned a little further, tilting his face upwards so that he might lick at the soft creases on the underside of each of Will's toes, all the while continuing to dutifully push his cock against Will's tender prostate.

Observing Hannibal's unbridled enthusiasm for every single part of his body, Will was at the point where he could take no more. He swore profoundly and his body clenched as his orgasm came up forcefully. While the rest of him trembled and jerked, Hannibal held the foot still and sucked two of the curling, clenching toes into his mouth. The filthy suction drew a fresh cry of shock and joy from Will, and seemed to prolong his orgasm.

Will had barely begun to settle down when Hannibal pulled out of him. He found it rather abrupt, and opened his eyes to see what the matter was. He was just in time to watch Hannibal grasping both of Will's ankles and clasping his feet together, closing the arches around his own cock. Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut and his harsh breaths turned to sharp grunts as he ejaculated heavily between Will's feet and over his belly.

Between the sight of the fat, coral head of that cock emerging from between the soles of his feet and the copious amount of spunk Hannibal produced, Will could not help but utter a final soft whine as his cock gave a little twitch and one last trickle of fluid seeped out. His body went limp, his bones turned to jelly, and he let himself be lulled by Hannibal’s deep, satisfied exhalations.

Hannibal took a moment to think of his upholstery, and used the towel to clean up some of the mess, before allowing himself to collapse back onto the opposite end of the couch, with Will's thighs still resting over his own. They enjoyed several long, vague minutes of silence, before Will said hoarsely, “I've uh, God, I've never...I've never been...”

With some effort, Hannibal propped himself up, then tilted forward to cover Will's sated and vulnerable body with his own. He helped Will finish his sentence: “...like that before?”

Will laughed a little, out of embarrassment. “Um, yeah. Basically.”

“It was an honor and a privilege to give you that experience,” Hannibal said softly against Will's neck. “When you're ready, I'll help you upstairs, and we can have a shower, hm?”

Will squirmed a little as he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But then I should go.”

Hannibal dug his hands beneath Will's body, cupping his shoulder blades and clasping him tightly. He hunkered down, pressing Will into the sofa cushions, probably compromising his breathing just slightly.

“But why would you go,” he asked, “when you could stay?”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr.com for more of this type of nonsense.
> 
> Also, once in a while I like to make sure that everyone is clear that I am totally fine with people doing any of the following things:
> 
> 1\. Drawing art based on my fic  
> 2\. Recording podfics of my fic  
> 3\. Citing my fics in your master's thesis  
> 4\. Including my fic on any gold-plated audio-visual discs that are being sent into space on a probe  
> 5\. Carving excerpts of my fics into the surface of the moon with a laser  
> 6\. Identifying my fics as the cause of your descent into supervillainy
> 
> kthx


End file.
